This story contains what some might deem as heavy depictions of blood and injury. This is not intended to be a gore fic, and I tried to keep descriptions accurate without being blatantly gut wrenching.

There is also male nudity in this chapter, with more nudity and sex to come.

I own nothing. Comments, constructive criticisms, etc, are always welcome. Please enjoy.

Layla staggered underneath the burning heat of the midday sun. For a moment, the priestess leaned on her tall staff to rest her aching body. Her time spent in this barren wasteland had not gone as planned. Luck had been against her from the very beginning, and she had unintentionally disrupted some of the local wildlife, gotten lost, stumbled into a town that belonged to the enemy, and escaped with her life - only to disturb more creatures and fall into a patch of bramble thorns.

Now the young human female was wounded, lost, parched, starving, and melting under the sun.

She had been searching for shelter for hours; she needed a place where she could rest, regain her strength, and tend to her wounds. While she had used her healing magic on her most dire injuries, it had sapped all of her magical strength. Although she still had many cuts and bruises that needed to be treated, Layla knew that now she was more in danger of dying from heat exhaustion and dehydration.

With a weak groan, she moved forward on her journey to find shelter. Afraid she would fall over and never get back up, she used her staff for extra support. Using one hand, Layla swept a sticky clump of her long brown hair from her face so she could see better. Then, in the distance, she saw what she had been searching for: an oasis.

Filled with a sudden burst of energy, Layla hurried toward the tall trees and grass that meant water and life.

Grom'thor's sweat poured down his face, into his eyes, where the salty liquid burned terribly. The blistering sun was no friend to the orc warrior, who was clad in heavy plate armor. He had considered removing the armor, but that would have left him exposed and defenseless. That would not do at all. He had even forced himself to drag his giant two-handed sword along the ground despite his exhaustion. Grom'thor refused to appear weak.

His armor hid the gashes and spilled blood he had suffered in the ambush. The enemies had been cowards who had chosen to lie in hiding and fight him five to one. Grom'thor had driven his attackers off, of course, though he knew it had been just barely possible. He had been badly hurt in the fight, but the adrenaline from his rage had kept him fighting until the end. Two of his attackers had died at his feet, he was proud to say. The other three had run off, all heavily wounded. Based on the injuries he knew his sword had inflicted upon the cowards, they were all likely in a state similar to his own - or dead, if they had not found help yet.

Delirious from loss of blood, the oppressive heat of the sun, and lack of water, Grom'thor had managed to get himself lost in a part of the world he had always known like the back of his green hand. His mind had an inkling of where he might be - yet even if he was somehow right, he was still too far from an encampment to make it there alive.

His knees felt as though they would give out any moment now. Was this to be his end? Alone, in the middle of nowhere, with no one to honor him? Grom'thor refused to believe that it would be so.

In the distance, he saw something twinkling from the bright sun, and raised his gloved hand to shade his eyes. Before him, though still a ways off, was an oasis. . . or perhaps it was a mirage. Yet, Grom'thor knew he had to take that chance, and he trudged onward with his mouth dry from thirst.

Layla stumbled through the brush of the lush oasis and came upon its life source: a lake. Its waters glittered like crystals in the sunlight. It was very much a sight for sore eyes. She surveyed the clearing and noticed the opening of a cave jutting out from a formation of hill and rocks, an opening that had been previously hidden by the tall trees. Shelter! All she had to do was fill her water skins and make her way to the cave for some much-needed sleep.

But a rustling in the thick brush startled her so much that Layla dropped her staff and almost fell to her knees.

When a large and powerful looking orc stepped into the clearing that surrounded the lake, it took all of her willpower not to scream. She stared with despair at the intruder to her newfound sanctuary. It had taken everything within her to make it this far alive, only for it now to be quashed by a random encounter with a beastly orc.

He was perhaps some thirty feet away from her, but his armor covered most distinguishing features. Still, it was clear that before her, a fearsome warrior stood. His armor was a dark silver grey that reflected the light bouncing off from the lake. The orc's helmet covered most of his face, but the green of his lips and the shocking white of what were undoubtedly tusks jutting from his mouth were unmistakable.

Even if the telltale green skin had not been visible, there was no mistaking him for a friend. He was too tall - too wide - to be a human, and he lacked the odd goat-like legs of a draenei. Layla's knees quaked, but somehow she managed to stay upright as the two opponents stared at one another.

Grom'thor was surprised to find anyone, let alone a frail human female, at the refuge of his oasis. He quickly corrected himself; she looked frail, but a female out here, all alone, was hardly frail. So many of his kind underestimated the scrawny humans because of their size, without considering the circumstances. Despite his beleaguered state of mind, he looked her over, evaluating the threat as best as he could.

Like most human women, this one was short. Of course, many humans were short and small compared to an orc of his size. Her skin was pale, but clearly recently sunburnt across her face and arms. He grunted - pink skins. The woman's hair was auburn, unbound, and went past her shoulders from what he could see. That was another thing Grom'thor did not understand about humans. They would let their hair grow long, but never tie it back. He knew from experience how long hair could, and frequently, would get in the way during battle.

She was clothed in a white and blue robe lined with silver that winked at him in the sunlight. The robe looked dirty, torn and disheveled, but he knew his sight was blurry with fatigue. He could simply be imagining her disheveled appearance. With no minion nearby, this woman was either a priest or a mage. Either one could be potentially deadly.

Grom'thor clasped both hands around the hilt of his sword that he still dragged along behind him. It weighed more than ever now, but he was not an orc who would go down without a fight. He raised his large sword as high as his strength would allow, released a fierce battle cry, and started into a sluggish charge.

Layla's eyes went wide in fear as she saw the sword that would dwarf her in size, let alone cleave her in twain. As the orc rushed at her, she could not suppress her scream and her knees finally gave way beneath her. She collapsed under her own weight, and cried out in pain when her knees hit the ground. If she had not been about to die, she would have cursed the new bruises that were sure to form.

Then, it hit her– it being the overwhelming stench that preceded him. The smell of death.

"Stop!" she screamed, when the orc was but five feet from her. She quickly raised her hands to show her intent for peace.

Briefly, pleadingly, she prayed that he could understand even a little of the Common tongue. To her surprise, he actually stopped in his tracks. Then, to her further shock, the giant sword fell from his hands. Layla was certain now that the odor did, indeed, originate from him. Now that he was closer, she could see how battered his armor was, and the blood that trickled out from under the right side of his breastplate onto his greaves.

"You're hurt. So am I. But we're no threat to each other. I can help you. Please, let me help you." She looked up at where the orc's eyes were hidden under his helmet, and her voice quivered as she fought back the sting of tears in her eyes. She did not want to die. "A truce?" she offered, plaintively.

Grom'thor could no longer hold his sword - it had been lucky for the human that she had yelled when she did. He looked her over once more, and he could see how true what she said was - as he did understand the clumsy language of the humans. The little thing was hurt, and likely as weak as him. There would be no honor in killing her. But offering to help him?

He snorted. "You lie, little one," he said in heavily accented Common.

By the Light, he had understood her and could speak Common as well. Normally, Layla would have taken affront at what the orc had called her - but now was not the time to waste energy being offended.

"No, no, I don't." Could what she had in mind truly work? "I am a priestess. I can heal you when I've rested and regained strength. In the meantime, though, I have bandages, potions, and herbs to help treat more significant wounds that cannot wait."

Was she mad? The human was telling him what was in her bags. Grom'thor could easily kill her where she knelt and take her healing aids for himself. However, he winced as more sweat fell into his eyes and the ground seemed to spin beneath him. No, it was not possible for him to tend to himself in his current state.

"Fine," he growled, his voice laced with pain. "A truce."

Layla's heart soared. It was still possible that she could get out of this wasteland alive. "Go to the cave." She pointed weakly in its direction. "Give me your water skins, I'll fill them."

Grom'thor did not like that she was giving him orders, but she was not wrong. He pulled the skins from his belt and tossed them at her. After staring uncertainly at the tiny thing for a while longer, he gingerly bent over to pick up the hilt of his sword. With an added glare as an unsaid warning, he cautiously turned his back to the woman, and headed for the cave, with his sword slowly dragging behind him.

Meanwhile, Layla scrambled for her own water skins and practically crawled the remaining distance to the edge of the lake. Once filled, the four skins would be heavy, and she still needed to grab her staff - but she would manage. The water was blissfully cold on her hot skin as she dunked the water skins in order to fill them. When she was finished, she crawled back to her staff and used it to help herself stand. She returned to where she had left the skins and picked them up by the strong strings usually used to hook them up to belts.

Pausing a moment to let her racing heart settle, she looked toward the cave. She could not see the orc anymore, so he had most likely made it to the cave. Now, it was time for her to join him and live up to her promise.

Once he had reached the cave the little human had pointed out, he had dropped his sword at the entrance. His fingers and wrists could not stand to carry its weight anymore. The orc took in the cave before he gave in to his fatigue and lowered himself to the stone floor. It was a small cave, but it would still be big enough for him and the human woman to occupy together. They would also be well protected by the elements while they each regained their strength. He breathed in deeply and enjoyed the cooler air and darker light in the cave as he waited.

The priestess's staff joined the orc's sword with an unceremonious clatter at the front of the cave. With a sharp breath, she inhaled the cool air of the cave and shivered. The coolness was a wonderful relief on her hot and sweaty skin. Layla moved over to the orc and quickly sat beside him before her knees gave out again. The last thing she wanted to deal with was broken kneecaps.

She uncorked one of his water skins and put it in the gloved hand of the orc. "Drink."

He seemed to grunt in dislike over her command, but she was not entirely sure the orc was still conscious. He was no fool, however, and quickly brought the skin to his lips. Layla was pleased that the orc was drinking slowly. She had seen firsthand the perils of drinking too fast when severely dehydrated. If he threw the water up, it would only add to the stench that was quickly permeating the cave.

With a pop of the cork from one of her own water skins, she began to drink slowly as well. She would do neither of them any good if she fainted from thirst. Once she had drunk enough water for the moment, she placed the plugged skin by her side and shrugged off the heavy weight of her traveling pack. It was time to get to work.

"You stink," she said aloud, before realizing she had done so.

He growled in disgust and set the water skin aside. "Humans all say the same things of orcs." It was a stereotype that orcs never, or hardly ever, bathed and stank something foul.

"No, that's not what I meant," Layla said, slightly agitated.

She reached for his helmet and slowly pulled it off the orc's head. If she was to treat him properly, she had to get him out of his armor. More specifically, she had to find the wound - or wounds - that caused the stench of death. Dark, sweaty hair that clung to his head and neck was revealed upon removal of the helmet. At one time, it had been parted into two braids that would have gone just slightly past his shoulders. Now, little of his hair was tied back with the dark brown leather thongs that clung to stay on. The rest was loose, dirty and matted.

His tusks were smaller than Layla had anticipated. They did not rise up into sharp, dangerous points. In fact, the tops were flat and it occurred to her that both had been broken. As the left tusk was significantly shorter than the other was, it was the most likely explanation.

When she examined his face, their eyes met, and each started at the other a moment. Layla noticed his rich, dark brown eyes, while Grom'thor stared up at her crystal blue ones.

Layla cleared her throat. "What I meant was, you have a wound, or more, that's festered. You stink of death, and if I'm to help you at all, I need your help removing your armor." It was a wonder he did not smell it himself, but she kept that to herself, this time.

Grom'thor grunted as he began to slowly sit up. While what she said was no surprise, it still angered him that he had been so badly injured. If this human managed to keep him alive, he knew it would be nothing short of a miracle that he had found her at all. "Fine," was all he said.

He began to pull off his gloves while she began to unclasp his pauldrons and breastplate. Layla's fingers trembled from exhaustion, but she pressed on. She had a promise to keep, after all. The orc's almost ridiculously large hands helped her peel the heavy plate away from his body. Almost instantly, the stench increased twofold. Her nose wrinkled at the grotesque smell, and if it were not for the dire straight he was in, he would have laughed at the ridiculous face she had made.

Underneath his breastplate was a rough-spun brown tunic, stained and cracked by dried blood. Layla quickly took note that most of the blood was indeed on his right side as she had surmised earlier, but first the tunic and the rest of the orc's armor needed to be removed.

"Your boots," she managed to mutter as she tried not to breathe in too much of the pungent odor.

As he, with no small amount of pain, began to unbuckle his boots, she searched through her pack. She knew that the tunic was most likely stuck to his wounds, and would need to be cut off. Thankfully, she carried a dagger for such a purpose.

When Grom'thor heard the clang of something metal being pulled out, he turned to growl at the small human. "What do you think you are doing?"

Layla remained calm. "I told you everything needs to come off." She put an emphasis on "everything". "I'll need to cut the tunic off, or risk you worsening you injuries further by pulling it over your head. I did promise to help you," she reminded him.

After a staring at her with his eyes narrowed, he relented. "Fine." He tossed his boots aside and began to unfasten his greaves and belt as she unclasped his bracers.

Soon enough the orc was back down on the cave floor in his small clothes, and she cut open his tunic - only to reveal his badly beaten broad chest. Grom'thor roared in pain as she painstakingly pulled it away from all the dried blood on his right side. She cringed as the loud sound reverberated back and forth across the cave. Layla, accustomed though she was to gruesome sights, had to cover her mouth for a moment when she laid eyes on the full extent of the damage. The gash was large, almost from armpit to hip. It was deep, and she could have sworn she could see a bit of the orc's ribs.

It was clearly infected, and most definitely the reason for the stench of death. Puss oozed from the wound, and the wound itself was grossly discolored. Her empty stomach churned at the sight. She wondered, in amazement, how flies were not swarming around the orc. The injury required her immediate attention, but...

"Your small clothes will have to come off."

Layla blushed. She had seen many naked men in her days, but this would be her first orc.

"My what?" Grom'thor growled, as he still seethed from the pain of having the tunic removed.

"Your loincloth," she said, not able to look back at the brown eyes that peered at her.

The loincloth, made from the same material as the tunic, rode over the orc's hips and covered plenty of skin - skin that could have cuts that risked infection were they to be ignored. Of course, there was no doubting the large gash on his torso would take a lot of attention.

"Your name," he finally said with a beleaguered sigh.

"My what?" Layla was startled at his request.

"Your name, girl. I don't get naked for women I don't know the names of, even healers. Your name, now." Then, in an attempt to sound not quite as harsh as he was sure he did, he said. "I am Grom'thor, son of Agro'gon, son of Thor'mar."

She blushed again when Grom'thor mentioned getting naked. While she always tried to be clinical when dealing with a nude patient, the orc was making it a bit difficult. Still, she was grateful to have his name.

"Layla, my name is Layla," she said. "Now please, while I respect any wish for modesty, I will need to make sure there are no other injuries that risk infection."

Grom'thor grunted his approval, and she took to the awkward task of removing his small clothes.

She could not ask him to do it himself, for that would require sitting up again, and he clearly was in enough pain already. Layla was thankful that his loincloth was only tied together. That would make the task slightly easier. She untied the rough cloth, and the underside fell off his hips, to the stone floor. Hesitantly, she picked up the portion that covered his front and did a cursory glance over his skin.

Although she did her best to keep her eyes averted from Grom'thor's manhood, she was not as successful as she would have wanted. Though flaccid, it was rather sizeable and a slightly darker green compared to the rest of his skin. There was no way for her to avoid noticing that he was also uncut. Forcing herself to look away, she focused at the task at hand. While he did have some scrapes, they were minor and could be tended to later. In an effort to help him not feel overly exposed, as well to keep her from feeling constantly mortified, she laid the cloth back over his private parts. The rest of his skin, however, she left uncovered so it could breathe.

The orc, meanwhile, had kept his eyes staring straight up at the roof of the cave. It did not please him to be exposed so much to a human. Such exposure to an enemy was a sign of weakness although he knew that for the meantime, Layla was not his enemy. Still, she was a woman, and a woman of any race so close to a man's more sensitive areas could be problematic. He tensed when a strand of her hair touched his thigh. Just how close was she going to look?

He was most relieved when he felt the cloth covering himself again. Now, would she finally get to work on his blasted side? Grom'thor let out a hiss of pain when she did just that.

Layla had grabbed a clean cloth and a cleansing potion infused with her healing magics. She applied a small amount to the cloth as she moved over to his right side. Slowly, carefully, and tenderly, she began to clean the gash. The magic of the potion worked quickly. While it would not heal him completely or immediately, it would begin to curb the infection and help along the natural healing process. When her strength returned, she could heal it completely, but that was still some time off.

Once she was halfway done, she went back to her pack for more clean washcloths. Grom'thor groaned and stirred. He had grown silent as Layla had tended to him, and the sounds he now made distressed her. She reached her hand to his sweaty brow, and promptly cursed herself. The orc had a fever. By the Light, she should have known he would.

Quickly, she pulled a different potion from her pack. She was thankful that she always traveled well prepared, though a well-stocked bag did not always prevent journeys from going wrong. Gently, she shook him by the left shoulder in order to stir him. His brown eyes fluttered open for a moment to stare at her.

"You have a fever," she said as she opened the potion bottle. "Drink this - it will help."

Without any question or noise this time, the orc did as he was told once she placed the lip of the bottle at his dry green lips. She slowly poured the liquid into his mouth, and he gulped it all down. When the bottle was empty, she took a hold of his water skin and offered him water to drink. She knew the potion tasted horrible, but what it lacked in taste it made up in healing power. Grom'thor's eyes were barely open, but he drank down the water Layla offered him. When he had had his fill, he turned his head away.

Now that he was finished, she swapped his skin for her own, and took several long swallows of the refreshingly cool lake water. She wiped her mouth with her arm when she had finished, and winced in pain. The right sleeve of her robe had been torn near to shreds, and as such, her arm had gotten plenty of sun exposure. Her arm burned, as did her face, neck and chest. Layla had known she would be badly sunburnt, but it was only now that the pain and throbbing settled in.

Buried somewhere in her pack was a special healing balm she made herself for sunburns. Yet, Grom'thor was still in dire need of her attention. She could not justify spending time to heal herself when she knew she should wait until he had been completely helped to the best of her ability.

Layla picked the washcloths back up and gently scooted to Grom'thor's right side. She was relieved that the orc had been able to fall asleep. Not only did he need the rest, but also he did not react as violently when she treated an extremely sore spot on his gash. Not having to dodge a flailing giant arm in her own weakened state made her job much easier.

She was thankful that she had chosen to use the cleansing potion in conservative amounts. Layla still had a long way to go in order to battle the stench that made bile rise in the pit of her stomach.

Her focus on his hideous wound had made her lose track of time. A look outside the cave, combined with the fact that she still had light in the cave, was all she needed to know that it was still daylight. She wiped sweat from her brow with one of the tattered edges of her sleeve. All that was left, now, was to pack the wound with healing herbs and bandage it all together. There were not enough herbs in her bag to do as thorough a job as she would have liked, but every little bit would help.

With delicate care, she placed the herbs over Grom'thor's open side. He was still asleep, but the herbs would cause a stinging sensation worse than the cleansing potion had. If he woke now in a violent way, it could prove disastrous for everything she had worked on. Thankfully he did not stir from his fevered sleep. Taking her water skin, she wet the bandages just enough so that they would stick to his skin, but not his wound.

Finally, she was finished. Layla sighed deeply as the cave walls slowly spun around her. She was so tired, so exhausted. On all fours, she crawled over to her pack on the orc's left side. When she fell asleep, she wanted to be far enough away from the bandaged wound to let it breathe, so that she would not accidentally remove it in her sleep. Her hand trembled as she searched for that healing balm for her sunburns. In what was probably too much of a hurry, she smeared the milky paste over her affected skin. It caused the burns to tingle in delightful relief and filled her nose with a sweet smell.

Satisfied enough with her hasty job, she allowed sleep to take over her body. For the first time she relaxed on the cool stone floor. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and the last thought she remembered was how strange and funny it was to fall asleep next to an orc.